Drunk Crawford
by Lemna Minor
Summary: Crawford is a really, really embarrassing (not to mention horny) drunk. Schuldig does not approve.


The last time Brad had been this drunk he was a teenager. That was before Rosenkruez, back when he was your almost normal teenager just looking for a lay. Normally, Crawford did not drink. Normally, his consciousness rode the fine line of the present, wavering by choice between the past and the future.

But when he drank? People swam around him, flickering ghouls untethered in time. It was dizzying, but it was Crawford's mind and this is what it did. He just didn't have the control to identify the present. He looked down at his watch. He couldn't focus on the numbers, whether because he was drunk or they kept changing.

He turned to his right. Tom gave him a toothy grin. "Whaddaya say, Bradley? Ready to fuck some ladies?"

Brad nodded and stepped closer but as he did, the floor seemed to tilt, and a hand flew up to his face. Glasses. Oh. This is after Tom? Sure enough, when he looked up, Tom was gone. Damn, he missed that kid.

Excuse me, he meant to say, but instead burbled "escuuze me."

"Nani?" said a really hot woman next to him. Fuck, he'd like to fuck her. But oh. Speak Japanese.

"What is the… date?" he asked clumsily, his Japanese coming in awkward bursts.

"May 19th," a man's voice told him uselessly. But Brad had already figured it out, right? What was it again? Where was that woman?

He decided to venture out into the club, or the house-party, whatever it actually was in reality. The floor was sticky under his feet. The lights kept flashing and changing colors and disguised how lost in time he really was.

"Crawford?" His head followed the voice. Tom, yes. "Where have you been? What the fuck?" Urgh, and Tom's genial smile turned into Schuldig's sneer. Boo.

Somebody grabbed Brad's arm and dragged him away. Well, that felt real enough. The outdoor air was crisp—October, maybe? Halloween? He was wearing a suit. Was this the year he and Tom did Men in Black? Or spies or whatever the fuck?

God, Tom looked hot in a suit. And Brad KNEW that they were going to have some really great sex that night. Yesyesyesyes. Brad felt himself start to get horny. Tom kept twitching into Schuldig. Focus, Brad, focus. Brad licked his lips, and stepped closer.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Schuldig said, interrupting him even as he pinned Tom against the side of the building.

"Shhh," Brad said, willing the red head to disappear. He closed his eyes and pressed his body to Tom's, his lips groping for the blonde's.

A hot pain ripped through Crawford's groin and he sunk to his knees. Fuck.

"Aargh!" Schuldig roared, "You fucking perv. You had an erection!"

No, no, no. Not Schuldig. Schuldig meant Rosenkruez and after Rosenkruez and his life being absolute shit.

"Tom?" Brad called out, hoping more than believing.

And yes, he was met with more Schuldig: yelling, bitching, etc. "Who the fuck is Tom? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Crawford's hand cupped his throbbing genital region. The pain did good work tying him to the present, however unfortunate the present actually was. Might as well nail it down: "When's it, Shhhhldig?"

"You're drunk." Schuldig said with disdain, as if Crawford didn't have to scrape _his_ whimpering hung-over ass off the bathroom floor every Sunday. "Well, let's get your sad ass home. You owe me."

Schuldig grabbed his arm and pulled him up. "Where are the keys?"

Crawford looked at him blankly. What keys? Which car? When was it?

"Idiot," Schuldig sneered, and started patting him down. That felt good. Evidently Schuldig found what he wanted to, because he was reaching into Brad's pocket. His hair tickled Brad's nose.

"Smell good," Crawford commented, admittedly not putting a lot of thought into it.

Schuldig visibly recoiled. "Urgh, you're a creep when you're drunk, Crawford. Now. We're going." He started sauntering down the street, and Brad watched his ass with interest.

"So this's… _before_ we start havin' sex?"

Schuldig whipped around with super human speed. "No. No." His eyes bulged, "I will never have sex with you."

"And no Tom?" Crawford sighed.

"I don't know who the fuck that is!"

Well, that settled it, then. Crawford turned and started back towards the party. There were hot women (and men) in abundance there.

"No, no, no." Schuldig grabbed his sleeve, "What are you doing?"

"I. Am gettin' laid. Tonight." Whenever "tonight" was.

"Nope. No, you are not, as a matter of fact. You are going home. With me."

The red-headed man was stronger than he looked. Crawford struggled, but only half-heartedly. It felt good to be touched. He liked it rough.

Schuldig opened the door to their black BMW, and shoved him in. Crawford knocked his head in the rough-handling, but Schuldig hardly seemed to notice. He was sliding into the driver's seat a fraction of a second after slamming the passenger door shut. It was getting easier to focus on the present now that there were fewer distractions around him.

They drove in silence for two minutes before Schuldig spoke up. "So… I thought you liked women?"

"Mmm. I dooo." Like that Japanese woman in the bar. Her tits had been perfect.

"But you also wanted to have sex with some guy named Tom and, um, me." Schuldig said reluctantly. Brad was just sober enough to know Schuldig wouldn't have asked him this if he thought Crawford would remember it the next day.

"It's called being a _bisexual._" Crawford said with a mock-condescending tone.

"Fuck you." Schuldig grunted, clearly done with the conversation. He did not find drunk Crawford amusing. Drunk Crawford, on the other hand, was increasingly entertained by the present.

"You know how you're a homosexual?"

Schuldig pursed his lips. "Yes, believe it or not, I am aware of that." His hair hid his eyes. Crawford liked his eyes the best.

"And y'know I have an un-de-niably hot male body?"

"I knew that fucking arrogance was still rattling around in there somewhere. Shut the fuck up."

"I'm really good at fucking." Crawford wanted Schuldig to blush, but he didn't; he rolled his eyes.

"That's what they said at Rosenkruez. That you were the headmistress' boy toy and that's how you graduated early." So much acid in his voice. Crawford frowned; there was no need for that.

"You know how many fucking times you've hit on me when you came home drunk?"

There was that blush, just the slightest redness at the tips of his ears. "I thought you were straight!"

"I'm not. And you'll enjoy it. I promise."

"Urggh-"

"I can see the fuuuutuuure." Crawford half-heartedly held up a free hand to wave his fingers ominously.

"I will _never_ have sex with you."

"Mmmm." Crawford focused on his watch. The numbers were shaky, but they held. Good. He was sobering up. Yeah, he was about 6 months ahead of schedule for this one. Shit. Ah, well. "I'm just saying. Like, this is your only chance to fuck me for a long time. You get to be on top, and I don't let that happen often."

"You are so disgusting. Please stop talking."

His erection was gone, anyway. His head didn't feel so swimmy. Why had he been drinking?


End file.
